


Echoes

by Novels



Series: Reprise [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Elio needs all the hugs, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, abnormal quantities of second-guessing, and so does Oliver, book-verse, dumb people in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 07:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novels/pseuds/Novels
Summary: Elio starts second-guessing his choice after following Oliver to New York to be with him, twenty years after they have first met. No matter that it was Oliver who asked him to come in the first place.Because sometimes you just get lost in your head and you need someone else to bring you back to reality.This story begins right after "Like Proserpina" and will make much more sense if you read the rest of the fics in the series first. Although I suppose it can be read alone if you're just looking for a bit of angst with a happy ending.





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to God I don't remember being so invested in a story since I finished High Tide, in a different fandom, at a very different moment of my life.   
Thank you so much to everyone who's read the previous two stories on this series and left a comment or a kudo, your appreciation makes the process of writing about these two idiots even more rewarding than it already was. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Oliver's face was hidden between the sofa and my neck, his breath hot against my skin. His weight held me down, pinned against the soft cushions of the couch. I ran my hands over his broad shoulders, tracing small, soothing circles as we both got our breaths back. 

It was a hot day in New York and the sunlight filtered through the screens on the windows, bouncing on every shiny surface it could find, making the air glitter as it hit the tiniest particles of dust. Somewhere in the building music was playing, too far away to make out the words but close enough I could latch onto the melody. A car honked as someone shouted angrily, the sounds momentarily drowning out the music. The neighbour upstairs let something heavy fall to the ground. The screech of a chair being pushed back and of steps hurrying followed quickly. New York sounded familiar enough after the years I had spent there teaching at Juilliard back in the Nineties. It still felt like the same hive bustling with people trying to find their place, fostering their dreams, tending to their gushing injuries, making do with what they had. 

Oliver placed a soft kiss on my neck, moving slowly against me. I sighed, turning my head to give him better access, pressing my fingers into his shoulders a little harder. His body was still firm and athletic, time having only chiselled out some of the round curves on his face, accentuating his striking features. I still wanted every bit of him, desired every part he would relinquish. I would worship his fingers, his hips, his calves. I would serenade his eyes and whisper poetry against his lips, if only he let me. I let my gaze fall on the abstract pattern of the carpet as he placed one last, soft kiss on my collarbone and untangled his body from mine.

I could feel his eyes on me as he lingered for a moment, standing behind the sofa before he walked to the bathroom.

I could not look at him. Twenty years ago was now -- all of it. I felt the elation, the unbearable happiness, the fulfillment. And I felt the gnawing doubt making its way through my brain, the repulsion for what I had just done stinging behind my unfocused eyes. Just like our first time together, I was despising the easiness with which I had fallen into his arms, the way it felt natural to be with him, even after all the pain he had caused me. I loathed that I still wanted him with every fiber of my being. I hated him for making me believe he felt the same now, he had felt the same for all those years he had spent with someone else. 

I was angry at myself for running after him the second he had asked, for forgiving him as soon as he had said the words, for having resorted to sex instead of talking, again. 

I was angry, of course, because I was terrified. Terrified he would hurt me again. Terrified I would let him as long as I got to have him for a little while longer. 

He came back minutes later, a fresh pair of pants on, a damp towel in his hand. He gave it to me and I could sense his hesitation as I refused to meet his gaze once more. I saw him kneel next to the sofa from the corner of my eye as I cleaned up my chest. 

"This feels a lot like deja vu," he said cautiously. "Are you alright, Elio?"

I forced my lips into a smile and met his eyes. "I should demand we go swimming now, right?" It was supposed to clear the air, but Oliver did not smile. His expression darkened and I could see the worry seep into his eyes. He rested his hands on my tights, holding me down. I loved the feeling. I hated myself a bit more for that. 

"Please, don't do this again. What's wrong?"

I shook my head, tried again to smile, put some more effort into making it seem sincere. "Nothing's wrong, Oliver." I gave his hands a little pat and stood up, placing the towel on a chair and picking up my clothes from the floor. 

I had wanted nothing more than being here with him, in his house, his bed, his arms. For twenty years, that had been my deepest, darkest desire. And here I was, in his house, almost in his bed, certainly in his arms, and it had felt better than I could ever have imagined. It felt like home, it felt as if I got a piece of me back, as if I could finally hear the hidden sounds of the world. I could not stand the idea of him changing his mind again. I could not bear to be cast aside once more. I had to leave before he could destroy me, this time for good. Because I loved him more than I loved myself, and I would let him if I stayed. 

I managed to get into my pants before his hand grabbed my arm and made me turn to face him.

"Something is evidently wrong, Elio, or you wouldn't be trying to get away from me as quickly as you can." I could feel the puzzlement in his voice, see his confusion in the way his eyebrows were furrowed. "Have I hurt you?"

I couldn't hold in a mirthless laugh. He was asking about just now, of course, but the irony of that question was just too much."I don't know, Oliver, have you hurt me? What do you think?"

I could see him recoil at the sarcasm in my words as he realised the full import of his question, and of my answer. I felt bad for answering so harshly. He had apologised, after all. He had reached out and asked for forgiveness and a second chance. I had come all the way from Italy to give it to him. I was being so unfair. I was so scared.

"Elio--" he began, unsure how to continue. His hand was still holding my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. I wondered if they would leave a bruise. I hoped they would, just to have the evidence of our meeting branded on my skin a little longer. "I regret every day I have spent away from you. You know that, don't you?"

I had to look away from his eyes, for once so unguarded, his emotions so raw behind the blue hues of his irises. "Look at me, please. Look at me, Elio." His voice was music. It was Elgar's Nimrod as his deep tones brought me back to hushed moments in Italy, to words lost over static with an ocean between us, to the numb pain when he told me he was engaged. I was drawn to him like a moth to the flame, so mesmerised by its burning dance that it would sacrifice its life to be part of it.

"I regret picking what was easy over what I felt was right, I regret going along with that lie for so long. Elio, I regret not having the courage to keep in touch, because I missed you friendship so much I thought I would go crazy. And I am so sorry I could not be there when you needed me, and when you wanted me to. But I am so proud of the person you have become, and I am here now, and you are too, and I will spend every day of my life making amends for leaving you, Elio, if this is what it takes for you to stay."

I did not realise I was crying until Oliver reached out and wiped away my tears with his thumbs, holding my head between his hands, leaning his forehead against mine. "I love you, Elio. More than I have ever loved anyone. More than I ever will. I am not going anywhere this time."

I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, trying to get my voice under control. I was overwhelmed. I was speechless. I was grateful because he had finally shown his hand. I just had to make sure before I showed mine as well. "Won't you, though, Oliver? Can you promise me that you won't go when things get complicated? When your family finds out why you wanted a divorce? When your colleagues find out about us? Can you promise me you'll stay? Because I love you, too, but this time I won't be able to pick up the pieces if you leave me."

Oliver was quiet for a long time, his hands still on my face, his eyes closed as he breathed softly. I could feel him thinking my words through, understanding the pain behind them, the unspoken plea. I could see his resolve as he opened his eyes and stared right into mine. "Yes, I can promise that. I do promise that. Elio, I would never have gone after you if I hadn't been sure I wanted to have you for the rest of my life. If you still want me, I promise. This is forever."

I nodded, then, finally giving up the fight with myself. Finally deciding he was worth taking this risk, once more, one last time. "It will take time for me to stop worrying you'll just leave me someday."

He sighed and wrapped me in his arms, holding me tight. I felt him kiss my hair and lean his cheek against my head. "Every time you feel that fear I will be there to chase it away."

I let out a soft, broken laugh. "I am still a mess, aren't I?"

Oliver looked at me tenderly, his smile so honest I wondered how I could even begin to second-guess my decision. "Yeah, but you're my mess. Always."

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are wondering, here's a [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhnMd1Jl7SA) to Nimrod by Edward Elgar. Such a sad, nostalgic melody. I love it.
> 
> One tiny thing: conditionals in English are a pain. If you have noticed any monstrous mistakes, please let me know in the comments and I'll correct them.   
Thank you all for reading!


End file.
